


By the Light of the Moon

by WholockStuff



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockStuff/pseuds/WholockStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are on holiday in a nearly empty beach town on the Southern coast of England, when a series of strange disappearances and deaths bring them into a new case. This occurs between The Sign of Three and His Last Vow, and there is some tension between John and Mary throughout, as John begins to wonder if she is hiding something from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Water

John breathed in the salty air, enjoying the feeling of smooth pebbles beneath his bare feet. Sherlock followed close behind, trying and failing miserably at having a good time. It was clear that the consulting detective would rather be back in London investigating a murder. than taking a slow and leisurely stroll down a desolate beach somewhere in the South of England. Sherlock mentally cursed John's therapist, as this little vacation was her idea. He hoped something fun would come up, but it was unlikely in this town of only 200. At least this beat watching soap operas on the telly with Mrs. Hudson, but not by much. A strong gust of wind blew from the sea, and Sherlock shivered, pulling his trench coat tighter around his shoulders. John looked back, clearly just noticing that Sherlock was not right beside him.

"Could you possibly walk any slower?" asked John, then muttered, more to himself than Sherlock, "If I gave you a case, you'd be on your feet in the blink of an eye and I'd be chasing after you." 

Sherlock, of course, heard it all, and being "Mr. Punchline,” harshly replied, "If there had been a case--- ANY case, mind you, we wouldn't be here." John laughed, knowing that Sherlock was probably, like John, somewhat glad to take a break from the constant crime solving, and their growing fame (which Sherlock often reminded him was his fault for "that bloody blog of yours”). Sherlock decided that he may as well make the best of it, and braced himself for some paining small talk. 

“The weather’s quite nice today,” he said, in a clearly sarcastic voice. John looked up. The sky was in parts the color of burnt eggplant, and this unappealing image was glorified by smokey grey and black on its edges. The sight of it reminded Sherlock of lonely hours as a child, trapped inside as rain pounded the ground outside, with nothing better to do than play chess with Mycroft. 

“Yes, rather lovely,” replied John, trying to maintain a serious tone. Then, he made the mistake of glancing in Sherlock’s direction, and the two burst out laughing, Sherlock’s face scrunching up in a wide grin. When they had calmed down again, John raised his eyebrows. “So, you and me, alone, on an empty beach…” people will surely talk.” This brought back the laughter, and the two stood side by side, watching what was visible of the sunset through the murky clouds. 

When it was dark, Sherlock and John found some firewood, and they lit a big bonfire, and sat beside each other on an old log that they found (which, by Sherlock’s recommendation, had been coated with water so as not to catch fire).

“It’s funny,” said John, after a long silence, “in a way, it’s nice being away from Mary. Something about her…”

“Yes,” Sherlock interrupted, deciding for the moment not to share his deeper opinions, knowledge, and deductions about John's wife (which was quite difficult for him), “it’s like the good old days. Just you and me.” He smiled at John. “Remember, at your wedding, I promised I’d always be there for you… and Mary, but most importantly you. After all, if I’m you’re best man, you’re most certainly mine. Best human, even.” John blushed, but Sherlock didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to in the dim firelight.

“This is almost too perfect to be true,” observed John.

“You’re right, almost too perfect…” Sherlock trailed off. For a while, they sat in silence, gazing at the nearly full waxing gibbous. It was too perfect. Something about this moonlit night seemed odd, out of place. The water was mostly still, with the silhouettes of small rippling waves just visible in the near darkness. Still, Sherlock felt uneasy.

The two sat by the fire, pondering this, until John's eyes began to droop, and Sherlock's back ached from sitting up straight in his Sherlock way. Without saying a word, they stood up, John smothering the fire with water, and Sherlock walking, dazed, into the darkness. John sat down with a thump, and Sherlock turned, once again alert. Suddenly, John felt like he was falling. Falling, falling, falling. With a final blink, Sherlock faded into the darkness once again and John hit the sand.


	2. Death In The Sand

John awoke and blinked his eyes. He felt confused, and his head felt sore. In the distance, he heard an unfamiliar tune, beautiful yet sad. He rose, and wandered through the unfamiliar building until he found a small room with a fireplace. Sherlock was sitting on a chair beside it, composing a new song on his violin. When John entered, he stopped abruptly, gently resting the violin back in its case.

"What was that?" asked John. Sherlock, for once, looked startled.

"Oh, just composing," he managed.

"Where am I?" asked John.

Regaining his confidence, Sherlock replied, "So many questions... give it some time, your head must be hurting."

"B-but what happened?" persisted John.

"Minor blackout," said Sherlock. "Don't worry, you'll live."

"I felt perfectly fine, and then I fell..." muttered John.

"Exhaustion, perhaps." Sherlock tried his best to maintain a calm demeanor, but he too felt uneasy about this whole situation, this whole place, in fact.

"We should probably call Mary," suggested John. Sherlock shook it off.

"No, no. She'd only worry, and then we'd have to go back to London."

Now John was even more confused. "I thought you wanted that!"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not anymore, now that I've got myself a case... or at least I think I have."

"I can think of a name for it already!" said John.

"Never mind that," interjected Sherlock, "we don't have much time. The moon is nearly full..." Sherlock recalled the previous night.

"What's this got to do with the moon?" asked John.

"Everything, and not a thing at all. It depends, really," Sherlock replied in his mysterious way. He put on his trench coat, tied on his scarf, and opened the door. "Coming?" Naturally, John followed close at his heels, and Sherlock led the way to the beach.

"How's the baby?" asked Sherlock.

John looked puzzled at first, then a look of remembering flashed across his face, followed by a small from. "Oh yes, the baby. Well, it's doing well so far... not much news... Mary's gone to see the doctor a few times, but hasn't reported anything. That's funny..."

"Yes, it is funny," said Sherlock, glancing down the beach. "This body wasn't here last evening, unless I missed something."

"I meant with Mary, but I suppose that's not relevant," said John.

Ignoring his companion, Sherlock ran ahead towards the corpse. Upon reaching it, he took its pulse and examined it, verifying that she was a newly deceased 28-year-old woman who was recently married and possibly on her honeymoon. The woman had been trying to break a smoking habit yet had so far been unsuccessful (very obvious from the traces of nicotine and ash in her hair and the tube of minty toothpaste and a toothbrush tucked away into her purse). Unfortunately for Sherlock, there were no cigarettes on her, and he cursed under his breath, then turned to John, all of this in under a minute. He decided to keep the bit about smoking to himself, but mentioned a few other rather useless details to show off, followed by a long pause to let it all sink in. John, however, was busy examining the body for himself, trying to figure out how exactly Sherlock did it. Naturally, Sherlock paid no notice to this, and went on.

"The question is," he said, "how did a healthy young woman like this end up deceased and unnoticed on a beach with no visible or furthermore easily noticeable symptoms of dying?"

There was a pause, and then John responded, "Well, as a doctor, I've seen a lot of war--"

"Yes, yes, get to the point," interjected Sherlock impatiently.

"Well, as I was saying, this... erm.... body appears to have no unordinary bruises, bumps, or scratches, bullet punctures, or any other outward wounds, and her facial complexion is... rather normal. She seems to have simply dropped down dead. Heart failure, maybe."

"I understand that, John," sighed Sherlock. "It's just that, what could have possibly caused her to drop dead? Fright, perhaps?"

"Fright?" echoed John. "Of what?" He was beginning to come to a conclusion he didn't quite like.

"See, now you're getting it." exclaimed Sherlock. "I KNEW something wasn't right about this place!"

John began to feel a bit uneasy, as if someone was watching him. "You mean, someone or something..." He looked around nervously.

"Exactly!" said Sherlock with a grin. He gave a little bounce like an excited two-year-old on Christmas. "Which means we truly have found a new case!"

Turning back to the body, Sherlock disappeared into his mind palace, leaving John to his own thoughts. John sat down on the sand to wait, gazing out into undulating sea. After about a half hour, John's eyes burst open. He fumbled for his cell phone. The song, "December 1963, Oh What A Night" was playing softly, slightly muffled by being in John's pocket. Recognizing the ringtone as the special one for Mary, John sighed, not sure if he should take the call. Things had been rather rough between them lately. Clearly unenthusiastic, John grabbed the phone and pressed "Accept." 

"Hello?" he asked, trying not to sound so reluctant.

"John!" cried Mary, her voice full of urgency.

His heart skipped a beat. "What is it?" he asked, concerned. "It's not the baby--"

"No, no, no," assured Mary, "everything with the--the baby is fine." Mary sounded out of breath, as though she had been running.

"You haven't been overexerting yourself, have you?" asked John, currently more focused on the wellbeing of his child than Mary.

"Well, a little," she admitted. "But John, you have to listen to me. This is important. I think you need to come home. The baby, and well, both of us, actually are in danger!"

"Danger?" asked John, unsure if he should laugh and call out her joke.

"John--- there's something I've been meaning to tell you. It's about me. I'm not who you think I am," said Mary.

"Mary, it was a good joke, but you can give up on it now," said John. "You really gave me a fright."

"I'm not lying! It's true. Although, you'll have no reason to believe me once I tell you." She paused, and then there was an audible gasp. "It's coming!" she whispered.

"The baby?!" asked John. There was a pause, as if Mary was remembering something.

"No, not the baby. John, I have to go. I lo--" There was a noise like a gun being loaded, and then the phone hung up."

Sherlock could tell that something was wrong, but he did not think himself skilled at helping with other people's emotional issues, so he kept it to himself. 

"Sherlock?" asked John tentatively. There was a long silence, and John began to wonder if Sherlock had gone to his mind palace.

Without turning his head, Sherlock responded with a monotone "Yes?" 

John sighed. "Something's wrong with Mary. I don't know if I should, you know, go or not."

"That's up to you," replied Sherlock, somewhat aware that he was making this even more difficult.

"Well, you see, it was a rather odd phone call. I feel like something's up with Mary that she hasn't told me..." he trailed off. 

Sherlock recalled the time he had read Mary, and all of the things he had seen. One bit of information stood out to him, though. Since the wedding, he'd been trying to ignore it, thinking it was only his newfound emotions trying to find a way into his mind. It had been hard to admit to himself that 221b would be very hard to live in without John. Now, however, the thing from before seemed much more relevant. As he stared at Mary that night, the word LIAR had come to mind several times, hiding in the background behind ordinary traits such as CAT LOVER. Another curious word had been SECRET, much more noticeable and appearing all over. Judging by the fact that John, too, was beginning to notice peculiar things about her, the SECRET part was rather clear to anyone who became well-acquainted with her.

 _It's funny, though_ , thought Sherlock, _how she has no family, and no friends who she's met before a certain point._ Sherlock decided to keep these wonderings to himself so as not to upset John, but something about Mary Morstan, er, Mary _Watson_ didn't seem right at all.

TO BE CONTINUED

I hope you’ve enjoyed this fan fiction so far, and I intend to work on it as often as possible.


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